Warrior's Song Page 13

  “That was quite a surprise,” Jerval said, staring after his wife, whom he could no longer see. He said to Mary, who stood silently not two feet from him, “You will not step between us again. Do you understand me?”

  “Sometimes—no, rarely—she loses her temper. I did not know what she would do.”

  “She would have done nothing.”

  “I hoped that she would not.”

  “She would not dare to strike me, her husband.”

  “Well, mayhap, but she didn’t.” She slowly nodded and hurried after Chandra.

  “You acted like a husband, Jerval,” Mark said quietly. “I do not believe it a wise way to approach your lady, particularly when she wears a sharp knife at her belt.”

  “Aye, that’s the truth of it,” Jerval said. “By all the saints’ tribulations, do you think she would have thrown herself on me? Do you think she would have gone for my throat with that knife of hers?”

  “You wish for honesty here? All right, I think it is possible,” Mark said. “You rode her hard, Jerval. Mayhap you should stop ordering her about, explain your reasons for things, ease her more gently into this new role she must play.”

  Jerval waved away Mark’s words. “Next time, I will let her have at me—knife and all—and we will see.” He frowned. He looked baffled. “I wonder why she doesn’t seem to remember her softness and pleasure of last night.”

  Mark wisely said nothing at all, and Jerval strode away himself.

  “You’ll curse yourself, Jerval, for leaving the warmth and comfort of Croyland if those storm clouds I see to the west keep building.”

  Jerval slewed his head about and looked thoughtfully toward the sea. “You might be right, Mark. Let us hope the winds blow the storm southward.”

  Mark was silent for several minutes, his gray eyes, out of habit, searching the rugged hills to the east for robbers. They rode quickly enough since there were no baggage mules loaded with Chandra’s dowry goods to slow them down. There was only one mare to carry all Mary’s and Chandra’s clothing.

  Mark heard Mary laugh and turned in his saddle to see a seabird winging close to her. He watched her hold out her hand to the gull and hoped the bird wouldn’t bite her. She was still shy around him, but she didn’t flinch or slither away anymore.

  What had happened to make her fear men so much? Or was it just him? Surely he had never given her a reason to fear him.

  “I will ride with Mary for a while,” Mark said, watching the gull fly over her head, coming no closer, simply keeping pace. “I will send your wife to you. It is to be hoped that she will not go for your throat.”

  Jerval smiled. “At least not whilst we are riding.” They were well away from Croyland. She was his wife, his responsibility, and he felt very good about that. This morning hadn’t been a natural sort of morning. She had forgotten he was her husband, her lord. But she would not forget again. He would help her not to forget by taking her again and again, until he filled her belly with his child. If he had not been surrounded by his men, he would have called a halt and taken Chandra into the fields just yon, eased her onto her back, his cloak spread beneath her, of course, and then he would . . .

  “I once camped with my father in those fields,” Chandra said, reining in Wicket beside Pith, who snorted and veered away.

  Her damned father again. He didn’t need to hear that. He said, “Aye, I was thinking of those fields, but not camping for the night there.”

  She was riding astride, dressed like a young squire, her mail vest beneath her tunic. Since her braid fell over her shoulder, there was no chance to mistake her this time for a boy. When she had come running down the stairs into Croyland’s Great Hall, thusly dressed, he had held his tongue, for she had obeyed him. They were away within the hour, and she had said nothing more to gainsay him. Mayhap he had pulled the reins too tightly. He would go more easily with her.

  He reached out his hand and laid it on her wool-clad thigh. He felt her muscles tighten beneath his palm. He was instantly harder than the boulders beside the narrow road. Surely it wasn’t all that healthy for a man to be hard so quickly, so often. He cursed. “I wish this day would be over.”

  She stared down at his large hand for a moment, but didn’t try to shove him away. “Why? It is a beautiful day. Those rain clouds that so worry Mark—they won’t settle over our heads. Just breathe in that sweet air. The sea is only a half mile to the west.”

  She was talking, just talking about this and that, and he wanted to take her down off Wicket’s back and carry her that half mile to the beach. There was sand, and so he would use his cloak again and . . .

  “Why are you smiling? I said naught of anything funny.”

  “I am a man,” he said, nothing more.

  She sighed, a deep, profound sigh. “I know,” she said. “I know.”

  “Tell me true now. Why did you leave me this morning before I awakened? Why didn’t you kiss me, ease me awake so that we could come together again?”

  He didn’t think she would answer him, but then she simply blurted out, “I don’t want you to make me feel all soft and limp. I am not really sure how it felt now, because time has passed. Even so, whatever it was, I did not want to feel it again. It isn’t right. It isn’t the way I should feel. It isn’t the way I should act. It wasn’t me—truly it wasn’t.”

  She said slowly, a frown furrowing her brow, “Like I just wanted to lie there and touch you, mayhap smooth my fingertip over your eyebrow, and laugh and keep kissing you until I fell asleep.”

  By all the saints’ rosaries, he wanted to kiss her until they were both unconscious. He said, “There is nothing wrong with that. I am sorry that I left you so quickly. You took all my strength, Chandra. You felled me.”

  “You did sleep very hard. I just lay there for a very long time. I didn’t understand how you could make me feel that way. I still do not understand. However, I felt like myself again this morning, all those strange feelings gone. I left because I didn’t want to stay there with you.”

  He gave her a big smile, his heart thumping. “ Because it was too dangerous?”

  “Aye,” she said, looking at him straight on now. “I don’t wish to feel like that again, ever.”

  He had her. Quite simply, he knew now that he could bring her to him, make her want him, want those dazzling feelings he gave her. He gave her an even bigger smile and leaned close. “I want to kiss you between those long legs of yours again tonight.”

  She nearly swallowed her tongue. He saw it and laughed aloud. “I did kiss you there, Chandra, and you are so very sweet. You nearly rolled yourself off the bed—do you remember that? And you yelled so loudly that my ears drummed.”

  “I did not yell that loudly.”

  “Aye, you did. I think when I eased my finger inside you, that you lost your breath and nearly made yourself blue, your pleasure was so great.”

  She said nothing at all. He was pleased to see her red in the face.

  “When I came into you, I hurt you because I had to rend your maidenhead. I am sorry for that, but it is done now and there will be no more hurt for you, no more blood, only pleasure. Can you begin to imagine that, Chandra? All the pleasure I will give to you?”

  “What about pleasure for you?”

  He nearly spilled his seed right there, sitting atop his damned destrier. “You gave me great pleasure. And it was a husband’s pleasure, not a simple man’s pleasure. You will give me more. I will teach you how.”

  She didn’t want to talk about this weakness of hers that changed her utterly in those wild, frenzied moments. But the words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “What is the difference between a man’s pleasure and a husband’s?”

  “For a man, the pleasure is fleeting, since there is no caring, no feeling or longing for the woman. But for a husband, Chandra—you are my wife and I want you. To have you send me beyond myself—I thank you for that.”

  She said, looking between Wicket’s ears, and nowh
ere else, “Jerval, these husband’s feelings you speak of, I do not know about that. Maybe what you felt, maybe what I felt last night, was just as fleeting. Maybe it will never happen again for either of us.”

  “It will.”

  She shook her head at that, chewed her bottom lip and said, “I don’t like the fact that I am no longer responsible just for myself. I must speak to you now as I would to my father.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “I can see no difference. Before we wed you didn’t give me orders or critize me. Now, you wish to command me. Before, you did not demand that I obey you, but now, suddenly, you do. You have changed now that you’re my husband.”

  Had he suddenly changed? No, surely not, but he was her husband now, and that meant that perforce things were different.

  She said, “You know I did not with to wed you.”

  “Aye, but you are a reasonable woman. You accepted Mary’s words and you have realized that with me you will have all that you could possibly wish. I am not your father, Chandra. Do not say that again.”

  She shrugged. He lifted his hand from her leg. “You have but to bend a bit—toward me, not away from me.”

  “That is what Mary said.”

  “Mary appears to be a font of wisdom. She is the one I could understand fearing men, not you. You don’t fear me anymore, do you?”

  That stiffened her back just as he’d known it would. “I never feared you. I merely didn’t wish to have a man know me the way you did last night. I am not stupid. What you did to me—it is what my father does to every comely maid within Croyland’s walls.”

  “Mayhap, but it is no concern of yours now what your father does or doesn’t do. You will accustom yourself, for I will touch you until I leave this mortal world. There will be no other comely maids, just you.”

  “I do not know if I can do that, Jerval,” she said, then kicked her heels into Wicket’s back and galloped ahead of him. He heard her yell, “I don’t know that you can do it either.”

  She rode so well, like a boy raised on horseback. Of course she had been, but she wasn’t a boy. She was his wife. Perhaps he had changed, a bit.

  He cursed, but he didn’t give it much heat. Over time she would come to believe him, to trust him. As for her not wanting him to bring her pleasure, he discounted it. No one, having once experienced that sort of pleasure, ever wanted to have it disappear. He would get her used to it; he would have her anticipating his hands and mouth on her.

  His fingers itched to touch her. He was on the point of swearing, he was so hard, when Rolfe rode up beside him to tell him about two drunken men the night before who mistook each other for females.

  CHAPTER 13

  Castle Camberley, Cumbria

  Chandra had never before traveled this far north of Croyland. The winding lakes of Cumbria twisting between the lush forests, dotted with small islands and set against rolling mountains, were wild and beautiful. There were very few people; they’d passed only one village, and it sat at the base of a small castle.

  “Look, Jerval, the mountains yon are still covered with snow.”

  “Aye, the Cumbrian Mountains. Many years the snows do not melt from their caps until early summer.”

  “I had not guessed that such beauty lay only four days from Croyland. Indeed, I never believed that any other lands could compare to ours.”

  “There are many beautiful places in England. Mayhap we will visit them together.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I would like that. I have dreamed of seeing more of the world than just our small corner of it.”

  He merely cocked an eyebrow at her. He felt the same way.

  They cleared a gentle rise, and Jerval straightened in his saddle. “There is Camberley,” he said, and there was emotion in his voice, a good deal of pride, of possessiveness.

  Chandra shaded her eyes with her hand. They were descending into a gentle valley, and just beyond, high atop a craggy hill, she saw the massive castle of Camberley. Its stone walls were a deep red-brown in the fading afternoon sunlight, and four majestic towers, squared, not rounded like those of Croyland, rose like mighty sentinels. Within the walls, the circular keep rose some sixty feet upward. Two hundred yards of land on three sides of Camberley was cleared to prevent any attacker from reaching the walls unseen. A small, winding lake bounded the eastern side.

  “It looks impregnable,” she said.

  He smiled at her. “Trust you to see the strategic advances before anything else.”

  “It is the most important.”

  He only nodded. “The last siege was in the early days of Henry’s reign, when my grandfather was ill and prey to the rapacious de Audley clan. The granite rock upon which the castle is built made it impossible for them to tunnel beneath the walls. Even their war machines could not destroy the walls. They tried to starve my grandfather into surrender, but even that failed, for the harvest that year had been excellent.”

  “I have never heard of the de Audleys,” Chandra said. “Did your grandfather kill them all?”

  “He did. When my grandfather regained his health, he led a surprise attack upon their main fortress and killed every one of them. With Henry’s permission—or rather, I should say, with de Burgh’s, the earl marshal’s, permission—the de Audley lands were forfeited to the de Vernons, with of course a healthy payment to the king. The only price to be paid was a de Vernon wedding the last de Audley daughter. My grandfather bequeathed the lands to my father’s younger brother, and it was he who wed Eleanor de Audley. Since that time, our only battles have been with the Scots.”

  “You are as close to the Scots as Croyland is to the Welsh.”

  “Aye, and they are more dangerous than the Welsh when roused. We cross swords sometimes three or four times a year, when their hunger drives them to raid our demesne farms.” She was sitting forward in her saddle, all her attention on him. “They scream a hoary battle cry when they attack, and move like shadows. When we fight them, we shed our armor, for it makes us too slow. They are not knights and do not fight as such.”

  “How I look forward to crossing swords with them,” she said.

  He knew it had to be said now. He was her husband, responsible for her now, and so he said slowly, “You will never fight any enemy. You may practice with the men, but the Scots—you will never even consider crossing any weapon with them. Do you understand me, Chandra?”

  “You have changed, and I don’t like it.”

  She kicked Wicket in the sides and rode away. He stared after her. He heard Mark tell Mary about the village of Throckton that was just to their right, nestled amid rich farmland, before they climbed the narrow, serpentine road that led to Camberley.

  He heard Mark say, “Camberley’s lands extend nearly to the border, hence our continual bouts with the Scots. At one time, Jerval’s father thought to extend the de Vernon lands to the east, and considered a marriage alliance with Chester. Luckily, Lord Richard arrived just in time and turned Lord Hugh’s eyes toward the lands in the south.”

  As they approached the castle, Chandra slowed until she once again rode beside her husband. She heard welcoming shouts from the men lining the outer walls.

  “They cannot wait to meet you,” Jerval said. “Look at the north tower. See that huge man hanging over the wall above the drawbridge? That is Malton, our master-at-arms. The man is the size of a bull and so strong that a hug from him could break your ribs.”

  The wide drawbridge flattened over a ditch bulging with dirty water, and the iron portcullis ground upward.

  “Look, she is dressed like a lad.”

  “Aye, but there is no lad beneath those trousers.”

  “Jerval looks besotted with her.”

  And on it went.

  The outer courtyard was not much different from Croyland’s, Chandra saw, bustling with animals and people, yells, laughter, the constant hum of conversation, and muddy from the last rainfall. But there wasn’t a rooster who strutted about here the way King Henry di
d at Croyland.

  Jerval was yelling good-natured insults at his men, keeping a tight rein on his horse to avoid hitting the children that ran in and out of his path, greeting them by name. Like Croyland, Camberley was a huge village, enclosed within stone walls six feet thick.

  The inner bailey, closed in by lower walls that were, Chandra thought, thicker even than the outer walls, made her blink in surprise. All was orderly and clean. The ground was paved with cobblestones that slanted downward to allow the rain to run easily into the outer courtyard. Low-roofed sheds were clustered about the great keep, and she sniffed the air, suddenly hungry at the smell of fresh-baked bread.

  Jerval dismounted and she started to jump down from Wicket’s back when something stilled her. She waited for Jerval to lift her down, which he did.

  She heard all the people cheering.

  “That was well done of you,” he said. He called out names, so many names, she knew it would take her a very long time to remember all of them. So many new people to get to know, so many children, and the animals, more running free within the walls here than at Croyland.

  She heard Ranulfe tell the men who stood around Wicket, “Aye, it is milady’s destrier.”

  “Hard to believe,” said another man, “although she handled him easily enough when they rode in.”

  Bayon said, “Our lady is like none you’ve ever known, Blanc.”

  “Look at that glorious hair—I’ll wager Julianna isn’t too pleased. She had hoped for an ugly heiress.”

  She followed Jerval up the winding staircase, into the Great Hall, and drew to a halt, looking about. There were no rushes on the stone floor, and there was a sweet smell in the air, as if everything had been scrubbed with perfumed soap. The stone walls were covered with thick tapestries, and the wooden tables and chairs gleamed with wax. There were at least a dozen servants, all of them looking very industrious until they saw Jerval. There were excited murmurs, and he smiled and called them together to meet Chandra.

  She greeted them pleasantly, trying to memorize all the curious faces, for these were the indoor servants, and she would be seeing them every day.